


Not What It Looks Like

by Myrime



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bromance, Corpses, Fighting, Friendship, Humor, Multi, Secrets, Self-Doubt, Sickness, Training, serious conversations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-06-04 00:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6633355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrime/pseuds/Myrime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That corpse thingy you're doing," Evelyn asked sweetly and was met with a raised eyebrow.<br/>"You mean necromancy, I presume?"<br/>"Yes that," she agreed impatiently and grinned. "How lifelike can you make them?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The rotunda was thankfully empty when Evelyn hurried through it on her way to the stairs. Solas had way too good a hearing for what she had planned, and she had even made sure that Leliana was absent from her tower that night. The less witnesses there would be the better.

She was not even fully up the stairs when she called, “Dorian,” into the darkness of the library. Two lights were still on in the mostly deserted area. To one side Helisma was working diligently on something or other they had brought her from their latest excursion. But there was no need to worry about her. Tranquils were reliably unbothered even by delicate matters.

The other light was, as Evelyn had hoped, coming from Dorian’s corner, complete with the telltale clinking of a bottle he had no doubt raided from the wine cellar. No matter how often he bemoaned the pitiable quality – and quantity – he was a frequently seen guest down there.

“Dorian,” she called again, coming to an abrupt stop just outside illuminated circle of flickering candlelight. Grudgingly, he looked up from whatever book he was reading and, upon seeing her standing there with the expression of an overeager child waiting for a new toy, he raised an eyebrow at her.

“Inquisitor,” he greeted entirely nonchalant as if they had agreed on meeting in the library at night, when most sane people were already asleep. Her features automatically rearranged themselves to a baleful glare at hearing her title, but all it did was earning her a twitch of one perfectly-groomed moustache.

“Anyway,” Evelyn said, foregoing the opportunity to remind him of using her name. She had something better, after all, to throw him off-balance. “I need to ask you something,” her voice had dropped to a hushed whisper of its own volition, thus successfully piquing his interest.

“My expertise it at your disposal,” Dorian answered with his usual flourish, not yet knowing that he would soon regret his eager response.

Still outside of the lightened area, Evelyn shifted slightly until her face was only half-covered by shadows. That had not been planned but she was not going to let this opportunity for added drama go to waste. She had learned from the best, after all.

“This corpse thingy you’re doing –“ again she was met with a raised eyebrow, although more sceptical this time. And the moustache was utterly silent, too.

“You mean necromancy, I presume.” Of course, she did and she _knew_ the right term for it, having decided against pursuing this branch of magic a couple months earlier. She regretted that decision a little bit by now. It was good, therefore, that she had an expert at hand.

“Yes, that,” she agreed impatiently and grinned. “How lifelike can you make them?”

“How – I – what?” at any other time Evelyn would have found it hilarious to see him this flustered – not many people could boast to have rendered the great Altus Dorian Pavus speechless – but it was a serious matter. And, to give credit where it was due, he regained his composure quickly.

“No,” the Tevinter said curtly, a finality in his tone that would have sent lesser women running, or at least made them change the topic quickly to never speak about it again. Well, Evelyn Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste and leader of the Inquisition, was not that wise.

“You haven’t even let me expl-“

“Listen,” for once Dorian did not sound secretly amused, nor haughty or too self-confident. “I don’t care what kind of great plan you have thought of. Necromancy is nothing to trifle with, as is every other kind of magic. I won’t raise an army of the dead for you, nor can I revive someone. I thought you knew better than to ask such a thing.”

“You can raise enough corpses for an army?” as it did so often, Evelyn’s mouth spoke before her mind had a chance to catch up, leaving her to curse herself while the damage was already done.

Exhaling slowly, Dorian grew very still for a moment before declaring in a decided tone, “I appreciate our friendship which is why I am going to let this pass. But leave me out of whatever you’re doing.”

Death was not a subject any Tevinter would skirt around like a nervous maiden her bed on her wedding night. It was going hand in hand with slavery and blood magic. But it was not something he would ever treat lightly. Choosing the path of the Necromancer meant to respect death.

“Good night, Inquisitor,” he said and, this time, meant the title. The book he had been reading peacefully until Evelyn had interrupted him landed on his seat with a dull thud as he rose to his feet. After blowing out the candles he strode out of the suddenly crammed alcove he had all but claimed for himself.

“Wait,” Evelyn called, sounding apologetic. But he did not slow. His decision would not sway. “Oh, Andraste’s knickers,” she swore and hurried after him. Throwing worried glances at the dark library around them, she blurted out, “I need to learn how to stab people and I would prefer if they didn’t try to kill me back.”

The utter ludicrousness of this statement caused Dorian to come to an abrupt standstill, almost resulting in Evelyn colliding with his back. When she opened her mouth, no doubt to spin her little tale on, he raised a hand, effectively rendering her silent.

“Let me see if I’ve got this right,” he drawled, eyeing her with an incredulous expression. “You want me to raise a corpse to attack you so you can have a go at it with a sword?”

“Daggers, actually,” Evelyn supplied helpfully, cursing herself when Dorian turned away again.

“Far be it from me to judge your idea of stress relief,” his tone conveyed the complete opposite of his words, “But I suggest going to Cassandra or the Iron Bull with this. They seem to enjoy getting beaten up.”

“I already have –“

“Then I don’t see why you would need me or my necromancy,” there was a clear dismissal in his tone as he started walking again.

“I need to learn how to defend myself,” Evelyn explained quietly, falling back into step beside him.

“The last time I checked you were quite proficient with your staff.” No snarky comment on how he was, of course, more proficient, no upwards quirk of the moustache. Just a couple cool words. Had she misinterpreted him that badly?

“At Emprise du Lion,” Evelyn started and there must have been something of note in her voice, because Dorian turned his head towards her, even while he kept walking. “One of the Red Templars hit me with a Holy Smite. And without Varric there to put a bolt through his head I –“ she swallowed audibly.

It was not a good thing to remember. The nausea, the sudden weakness of her legs, the world around her swirling into a single grey mass. There had been panic filling her, reaching deep into the spaces usually filled with her magic. She had been lost, afraid of being cut off of this integral part of her. And, in that moment, she had not even minded that the Templar had been closing in on her, his bloodied sword raised, ready to strike her down. The fear had come later, and the anger, too.

“It did not matter how many spells I know or how many enemies I have already successfully felled with fire and ice dripping from my fingertips. All it took him was an ability everyone one of them has, and I was utterly defenceless.” The mere memory left her breathless, panting for air that she knew was not filled with what she had needed most back then: reassurance, safety, a way to fight. “I don’t ever want to feel like that again.”

Evelyn had known about the Smite, of course, had even felt it before, back in the Circle of Ostwick. But she had always followed the rules, the important ones, at least, and if she had not, she knew better than to get caught. So before this dreadful battle with the Red Templars she had never been hit with a Smite with the sole intention of harming her and taking her down.

She really could have done without the experience, but at least it had been eye-opening insofar that she knew now that something needed to change. Even her wish to live put aside, as little as she liked the mark on her hand, she was a head figure in the conflict threatening to rip their world apart. She could not allow herself to be this vulnerable. She was not expendable.

Dorian kept silent for a while as they made their way through Skyhold’s empty halls, neither of them knowing where they were headed. At least his face was not as closed off anymore, but rather pensive.

“What do you want with corpses, then?” he eventually asked, a weary sigh hidden beneath the words.

Trying her best to tone down her recovered enthusiasm, Evelyn replied eagerly, “Cass and Bull showed me the basics and even Cole came to help but –“ Going up against straw dummies and people she definitely did not want to accidentally stab could only get her so far. And the mere thought of testing her newly-formed skills on a real, breathing enemy, bearing down on her with plate-mail and a sword, intent on killing her, was enough to send her into another panic attack.

“I understand,” Dorian spoke up, gentle again all of a sudden, which only resulted in getting Evelyn irritated. She had asked for help, not pity.

“Do you?” she asked harshly. “Tell me, _Altus_ , have _you_ ever been hit by a Smite and been cut off from who you are?” She spat out his title as if he had been the one to steal her magic, just because, in Tevinter, no Templar would dare to raise a hand against a mage of his position. It was unfair, indirectly blaming him for being free while she had been caged in the Circle of Magi for almost all her life.

To her surprise, though, Dorian’s expression did not change much, only growing a tad more wistful. “No, you’re right. I’ve never had such an unfortunate run in with a Templar. I have, however,” here a strange smile appeared on his face, one that spoke of incompletely buried bitterness, “Been force-fed Magebane by my father to keep me from interrupting the lovely little blood ritual he had planned for me. So, yes, I _do_ understand.”

Feeling blood rush into her cheeks, Evelyn dropped her head in shame. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to –“ Dorian waved her apology away but she still refused to look at him. His exuberant personality made it easy to forget that he, like everyone else, was carrying scars.

“Now, why corpses?” he returned to his earlier question. But Evelyn did not answer at once. She had somehow imagined this to be easier and almost regretted asking, now.

“I’ve never had to deal with close-range combat before and I’m not ready for it. I also can’t stab my instructors, no matter how much they are calling for it at times,” still avoiding Dorian’s eyes, she shrugged. “I thought you might be able to manipulate a corpse to come at me like an enemy would. But without the killing me part if I miss or lose my nerves.”

Dorian sighed in response, causing Evelyn’s shoulders to slump in defeat. After a moment of contemplative silence, he spoke again. “I hope you have not already taken it upon yourself to procure a suitable corpse for this and hid it in your wardrobe. I assure you that you’ll never get the stains out of your clothes again – not that they could actually get worse.”

Immediately offended on behalf of her fashion sense – what was he expecting from a sheltered Circle mage anyway? – Evelyn looked down at herself only to freeze abruptly when the possible implications beneath his words finally registered in her mind. “Wait. You mean you’ll do it?”

“I would have preferred to skip the drama,” he scoffed but smiled. “You should have just said, _Oh, Dorian, help me learn to kill things. I just know you’ll be more brilliant at it than my current instructors and-_ “

Finally grinning again, Evelyn interrupted his self-praising runt with a well placed hit on his shoulder.

“I really don’t understand why you appear to have problems. You’ve got such a violent streak that this should be quite easy for you,” cocking his head to a side, he added, “Now, how do we get a corpse into Skyhold? Without anyone noticing, that is. I doubt your advisors would approve. Not to speak of the poor servants having to clean up after we’re done. The stains, remember? Horrible.”

“Yes,” Evelyn smirked. “That would be something you know everything about.”

Raising his chin defiantly, Dorian clicked his tongue. “And here I thought you were asking for my help.”

“I do,” she turned her best puppy eyes on him, pouting like she had seen spoiled Orlesian girls do on the market in Val Royeaux whenever they wanted something their companion was unwilling to buy.

“How could I ever say no to you, dear,” he rolled his eyes but smiled.

“I love you, Dorian,” Evelyn said, her voice saccharine, causing him to nearly choke on suppressed chuckles.

“Of course, what is there _not_ to love, after all,” he smirked, but turned serious again soon after. “Now, where do we get that corpse?”

Evelyn shrugged nonchalantly, “Just take one, I suppose There are enough lying around. And we can always make new ones.”

“You know,” he remarked in a long-suffering tone, “This is one of the many things that will be used against us if we’re ever being put on trial by being taken out of its context to depict us as heartless monsters doing unspeakable things to dead people.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, “Opposed to what?”

“Us doing unspeakable things to dead people with a good reason, of course,” Dorian answered haughtily, causing Evelyn to laugh, feeling a good bit of weight drop off her shoulders. She had known that she could count on Dorian to help her out. “I suggest we do this outside of Skyhold. There will be less prying eyes. And we certainly come across enough suitable corpses there.”

Evelyn nodded pompously. “It’s almost as if we knew we could use them some time.”

Tired all of a sudden and right at his limit for inappropriate jokes – at least on this subject – Dorian altered his course, intent on getting down to the wine cellar again before he would retire to his room. The unexpected way his night had taken certainly warranted alcohol.

“You should go to bed now, Inquisitor. I’m sure you want to be well-rested for your next excursion. I, for one, will make sure to have all necessities packed.”

Happy with their apparent agreement, Evelyn hugged Dorian’s side even while he was never slowing down, before bouncing off in the direction of her quarters. “Good night, my friend,” then she smirked to herself. “And don’t forget the moustache wax.”

Indignant at her daring, he watched her go off with an exasperated but fond head shake. “As if that would _ever_ happen.”


	2. Grave Robbing for Beginners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for corpses

The Emerald Graves did not only have a fitting name for their planned endeavour, the never-ending rows of trees and the muted, shadowy corners under the wide canopies also offered a perfectly safe way for Dorian and Evelyn to disappear for a couple hours without anyone being the wiser about what they were up to. Adding to the privacy the oppressing green gave them, the occasional tremor and suspicious noises spreading through the whole area could easily be blamed on the giants roaming around.

After taking down their first giant – a nasty piece of work – Dorian had turned to her with his damnable smirk, asking non too quietly whether she wanted to keep it ‘for studies sake’. The presence of their companions had effectively kept her from replying back in kind. The mere idea of trying to stab something that big, dead or not, sent shivers down her spine. Thankfully, all laughter had bled from Dorian after they had faced down the third of these beasts with apparently no end in sight.

They were fortunate that giants were not the only enemies lurking in this ancient graveyard. There were bandits enough for them to have free choice of their first subject.

Their companions did not so much as look up when Dorian announced brightly that the both of them would take a stroll through the forest. Which was exactly why she had chosen them. Blackwall, for he did as he was told, having enough loyalty for her to trust her to not do anything untoward. And Sera and the Iron Bull were only all too happy to stay far away from even the faintest whisper of magic.

Also, the presence of the Qunari made Dorian happy – even if he would sooner swallow his tongue than admit that – and Evelyn needed him like that. Only a happy Dorian would aid her in this.

“So,” the Tevinter started once they had arrived at a clearing where they had happened upon a handful of Freemen earlier and, as luck would have it, the bodies were still there, untouched. “Which one do you want?”

Evelyn could tell that he had not meant it as a serious question but, in her mind, it _was_ an important factor to consider. There were five men lying around. Statue and muscle mass were important. She was a complete beginner in the world of blades and close combat, thus she was not used to staring an enemy in the eyes before taking him out. Everything was easer from the distance. All she had to do normally was picking someone and throwing a fireball after them. Or, if they attempted to come towards her, slow them down or shock them right into no-man’s land. And the training at Skyhold had shown that she was not the quickest fighter, nor was she particularly strong.

“Not too small and not too big, I’d say,” Evelyn commented absentmindedly. Stepping closer to inspect the dead men, comparing them to some she had seen fighting in the training yard. This way she did not notice the incredulous look Dorian sent her.

“And here I thought bigger is always better,” he drawled. “Makes it harder to miss, does it not?”

“But the bigger, the greater the chance that it’ll hurt if _he_ doesn’t miss,” upon hearing Dorian’s chuckle, Evelyn looked up, momentarily confused until she steered her concentration on what they had just said. Raising an eyebrow, she added dryly, “Not that you’d ever have problems with _that_.”

The Tevinter straightened, sniffing in mock-hurt, “I’ll have you know that no one ever walked away from me unsatisfied.”

“What low standards they must have had. You really know how to pick your friends.” As much fun as their banters always were, they had not left camp for a battle of wits. So before Dorian could counter with something undoubtedly clever, Evelyn spoke up again, “We’ll take this one.”

Pointing to a middle-sized man whose right arm seemed to be attached only by a few remaining sinews to his torso anymore.

“You mean the one Bull apparently tried to cut in half? Good choice,” Dorian exclaimed, sounding like an overexcited vendor on an Orlesian market. “He surely won’t strike you with that arm.”

Deciding not to raise to the bait, Evelyn nodded happily. “My thoughts exactly. A sensible precaution as neither of us has any talent with healing.” She did not wait for an answer but stepped towards her chosen target and, after letting magical strength flow into her arms, dragged him to the side, away from the fallen forms of his comrades. “Aren’t you going to offer you help?”

A smile appeared on Dorian’s face, just as she had known it would, and then he crossed his arms and leaned against a tree in an utterly relaxed manner. “Nah,” he said dismissively. “I enjoy watching you work.”

Evelyn huffed at that, letting the man fall unceremoniously back to the ground when she found they were an acceptable distance away from the others. It would not do to offer Dorian the temptation of sending more than one of them after her just because he could and they were just lying around anyway.

“Well then,” Evelyn waved her hand in a grand gesture. “No time like the present. Do your thing.”

Not bothering to listen as he muttered indignantly under his breath, she unsheathed the two daggers she had been training with. When she had gone to Cassandra for lessons she had wanted a sword and preferably a shield to hide behind, but the Seeker’s arguments against that had unfortunately been logical enough that Evelyn just had to give in.

What she had wanted most was a quick solution. And getting pulled into a gruesome training regimen to not only teach her fighting techniques but also to build up the muscles she would need to effectively wield a sword was _not_ quick. Also, while the idea of having a shield to block any incoming attacks was nice, carrying it around with her all the time as well as trying to not crumble under the combined weight of the blasted thing itself and the potential hit it was supposed to take for her was just not feasible.

So, daggers it was. At least she could keep those out of sight. Surprising an opponent with the sudden appearance of an unexpected weapon would certainly work better for her to protect herself than her currently lacking fighting skills.

“Are you ready?” Dorian asked flippantly, his tone just the kind of pompous one would expect from a Tevinter asked for a favour. But Evelyn knew him well enough by now to see the concern lying underneath. Concern for her.

It would have been heart-warming had she not been a nervous wreck inside. She trusted Dorian’s skills, just as she trusted that he would never voluntarily let her come to harm. But magic was always unpredictable. It was a good thing, then, that she still had hers, too. This was supposed to be training for her mundane fighting skills, but she would not hesitate to turn her opponent into a pile of ashes the very moment she felt that the situation was slipping out of her control.

Nodding emphatically, more to reassure herself than in answer to Dorian’s question, Evelyn said, “Let’s do this.”

For all the adrenaline running through her, the following moments were utterly anticlimactic. After giving her an only somewhat reassuring nod, Dorian stepped forwards, weaving his hands through the air as the familiar tingling sensation of active magic built up around them.

Nothing happened. Or at least nothing world shattering.

Evelyn had seen Dorian’s skills in action before, of course, but that had always been during battle, leaving her rather preoccupied with keeping them all alive. There had certainly never been time to observe her companions’ fascinating doings beyond checking which of the people in enemy’s armour were coming too close to her friends, prompting her to fry them with a cleverly aimed fireball.

That was why Evelyn now half-expected the corpse to rush at her with a feral snarl, intent on ripping her apart. Instead, the dead man seemed to suck in Dorian’s magic with an almost audible gasp as a tremble ran through his formerly limp body.

Once he had scrambled to his feet in utter silence, slowly, shivering like water after its surface had been hit by a stone, she was not so sure anymore that this was a good idea. But when Dorian looked at her with a pointed question in his eyes, Evelyn nodded at him, putting as much confidence into the movement as she could muster even while she did not trust her voice to keep steady.

With a casual flick of his wrist, the Tevinter sent another, shorter barrage of magic into his newly revived puppet, effectively pushing him towards Evelyn. And then the dead man moved, the quiet rustle of his steps on the soft ground the only sound he made. His mouth was hanging slightly open and his eyes were unseeing, but still he walked with a certain kind of grace, probably an echo of the muscle memory of the fighter he had once been. And he soon gained speed and a kind of certainty in his movements as if the magic was quickly becoming used to the body it occupied.

The daggers felt heavy in Evelyn’s hands as she watched her opponent coming closer, picturing him as he had been only hours earlier, angry and desperate and alive. _Breathe_ , she told herself and made to visualize Cassandra and Bull’s instructions. This was just like training at home, only with the added bonus of embarrassing herself in front of Dorian. Strangely encouraged by that thought, Evelyn let her doubts fall away and charged.

As it turned out, this was not at all like training. For one, straw dummies were not as resistant to blades as flesh and bones and sinews. On the bright side, no one insulted her probably painfully bad form and shouted orders from the background. On the bad side, however, even with the added benefit of corpses not bleeding like normal people, Evelyn got herself covered head to toe in mud, grime and other things she definitely did not want to think about any further. At least her anxiety lessened somewhat after her third charge.

And all too soon – or, as her burning lungs and aching limbs screamed, not soon enough – they had run through all five dead men. Dorian had said even corpses had their limits, making it impossible for him to make them get up again once they had reached it.

“Well,” Dorian remarked, eyeing her panting form and the bodies around them, and Evelyn just knew that she would be mocked. “You look pretty banged up. Are you sure it was them having no weapons and not you?”

Unable to help herself, Evelyn laughed wildly. Come tomorrow she would surely be black and blue all over, because, weapon or no, the dead men had still handed out more hits than her and she had kept her barrier to a bare minimum, feeling the need to do this right. How had Bull put it so aptly – _How do you expect to learn if you don’t feel?_

But she was content nonetheless. It might have taken her too long and, had this been a real fight, she would have died a dozen times over, but she had managed to take her ‘enemies’ down. She was making progress.

“Don’t you worry,” Evelyn chimed, cleaning her daggers on the nearest dead man’s tunic. “It’ll get better each time.”

Dorian looked up for a moment like he was going to protest – because, really, she wanted to do this again? – but he thought better of it and merely sighed. There was no reasoning with her when she was in this kind of mood. Or ever, really.

“We should get you to the river so you can clean up. As amusing as it would be to see our dear friends’ faces at your appearance, I doubt it would aid us in keeping this quiet.”

Already up and moving, Evelyn grinned at him. “Don’t tell me you’re ashamed of our little tryst in the mud. I’m sure Bull would not be offended. It’s not as if the two of you actually manage to take the next step. Or any step at all.”

“Is that how you thank me, insolent woman?” Dorian growled, his eyes glimming with good-natured resignation. He did not need her Inquisitorial Highness to realize that he and the Iron Bull were engaged in a strange little dance around each other, stepping this way and that but never coming to any real conclusion. It was just that he was not yet sure what exactly he wanted to get out of it, or if there even was anything to be had. “Here I am, raising the dead for her and all I get in return is cruel mockery.”  

“Oh, Dorian,” Evelyn cooed. “You know that I love you.”

Dorian huffed in response. “That’s what they all say.”

They found a stream and Dorian dutifully stood guard while Evelyn washed the grime off herself and her clothes, being particularly thorough to leave no evidence that might hint at their secret shenanigans. She quietly blessed the Maker for fire magic to not only heat the water to an acceptable temperature so she would not freeze on top of being sore, and to get dry again quickly once she was done.

Happily bickering, the two mages returned to camp, finding it more or less like they had left it. Someone had started a fire to cook their evening meal and Evelyn fervently hoped it had not been Sera or none of them would be able to walk the next day. Even when not actively trying for it, the rogue elf was very proficient at poisoning people.

“Hey, boss,” the Iron Bull called from where he sat by the fire, watching her with his one good eye. “What happened to your pretty face?”

Years of living under constant scrutiny in the Circle had made donning an innocent face second nature to Evelyn. As she reached up and felt a scratch run over her right temple, she shrugged, silently cursing Dorian for letting her walk right into that. Although, she thought, she could not blame him overly much. As a Tevinter he had never learned the first thing about subtlety.

“You know, Dorian was telling the most fantastical tale about his wondrous prowess in dealing with an opposing magister. And I was so entrapped in it that I did not watch where I was going,” winking at her fellow mage, she concluded, “The git never warned me about that tree coming up in my path, probably too absorbed by his own voice.”

“My dear Inquisitor,” Dorian shot back immediately. “There are trees everywhere here. I know that my utter perfection must be blinding to plain mortals like yourself, but I thought that not even you could miss the fact that we’re in a forest.”

Bull laughed freely and it was the easiest thing in the world to join in. No matter whether he believed their little tale, for the time being he had decided to let it be. Their secret was safe, just as it was supposed to be amid friends. And friends, Evelyn mused as she stretched her sore limbs after sitting down close to the fire, they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, reviewing and leaving kudos. Hope you still like it.


	3. Matchmaking

“You’re getting better, Boss,” Bull commented cheerfully one grey morning during practice. “You might have even survived for a minute or two this time.”

In response, Evelyn groaned, squinting up at the sky from where she lay in the half-frozen mud. Getting better, what a sweet little lie. Her whole body ached and she could already feel bruises forming all over. The mages in the healing tent must think her a crazy masochist, for she was visiting them every other morning after getting her daily beating from Cassandra or the Iron Bull.

One would think that a target as big as a Qunari would not be so hard to miss, but somehow he managed to avoid most of her strikes and took the rest without even batting an eye as only someone could who let himself be hit with wooden swords on purpose – or for fun, maybe, she had not yet decided. Sadly, she had been forbidden to make herself faster or stronger with magic. It was the sole reason of these torture sessions, after all, for her to get by without.

“Now, get up,” the ground beneath Evelyn shook dangerously as Bull made his way over to her, looking down at her with an entirely inappropriate grin. The bastard was having way too much fun with this. “We’re not yet done.”

“ _I_ ’m done,” Evelyn whined, ignoring the hand he had stretched out for her to take. She had made that mistake during her first lesson, thinking the fight would only start once she was ready and standing on both her feet. Without mercy, Bull had taught her that was not the case, plummeting her right back into the ground, while Cassandra had been lecturing disapprovingly from the background. Evelyn had also learned that staying down left her open, too, for attacks, which both of her instructors used without hesitation.

“You will not learn anything if we mollycoddle you,” the Seeker had said before plunging right into the next attack.

The one advantage their enemies out in the field and Dorian’s corpses both had, was that they were not holding speeches about her form – or rather the lack of it. Other than that the differences were not too big. All of them were trying to kill her.

“A wonderful morning to you two early birds,” a voice interrupted Evelyn’s contemplations about how to end this session without adding another layer of blue to her skin. As it was, she barely managed to suppress another groan.

“Dorian,” the Iron Bull greeted jovially, his eyes flicking momentarily towards the newcomer. Having been taught not to play fair, Evelyn used that exact moment to push herself away from the ground and then threw herself against the grey mass looming menacingly over her.

In hindsight, she should have used the chance to bolt, but her stubborn wish to land a hit for once was, it seemed, rather detrimental to her health. For the Iron Bull, mercenary captain and ex-Ben-Hassrath, did never _not_ expect an attack. Her chances to actually hit him would be much better if she simply asked him to stand still – anywhere but in the training yard, of course – instead of trying to surprise him.

So, instead of hitting the grey skin of his lower legs, her knuckles scraped at nothing but air. While flying through the air, Evelyn scolded herself for her foolishly naive attempt. But when she heard Dorian snicker from somewhere to the side, she decided that she had had enough humiliation for one morning. Channelling her magic in her veins, she hardened her skin to brace for the coming impact with the ground or whatever else would intercept her way before that.

For once she did not feel any pain in her back, but was back on her feet before her head had fully registered that she had stopped falling. Gripping the hilt of the one wooden dagger she had left in her right hand, Evelyn stared at her opponent, trying to think of him as nothing more than one of the animated corpses she was beginning to fair a little bit better against these days. The picture that created in her mind was, alas, not as reassuring as she had hoped it to be, but in the end they were all just bundles of flesh.

On a mental count of three, Evelyn charged at the Iron Bull like a puppy that had been kicked one time too many, somehow avoiding his raised arm by ducking under it, twisting her body so she circled into the opposite direction and then, without wasting precious seconds on thinking as she was so wont to do, she simply struck out.

Bull was still too quick and experienced for her to come even close to a critical hit, but the satisfying sound of wood meeting flesh was enough to make a wide grin spread on Evelyn’s face.

“Congratulations,” Dorian called from the side, his moustache trembling due to his amusement. “You might have actually managed to put a splinter through that thick skin of his.”

Evelyn made the mistake of turning towards the offending Tevinter mage to glare at him, thus leaving herself open to a counter attack. She realized it soon enough, snapping back into a defensive position, but had Bull actually attempted to use her distraction, there was no way she would have been quick enough to avoid it. Still, he offered her a nod for her effort.

“Let’s stop here,” Bull declared, eyeing her critically to take note of every bruise that might merit attention.

Brushing off his concern, Evelyn made to pick up her second training dagger, suppressing a groan at how much even that simple movement hurt. “Thank you,” surely she had said it with less sarcasm when they had begun their morning spars. She still meant it, of course, but she was also tired of losing. Her magic had never given her as much trouble as defending herself physically did.

Thankfully, the Iron Bull understood her nonetheless. “You _are_ getting better,” he simply offered before walking over to where Dorian was still standing, looking perfectly awake and uninjured. Also highly amused, if the glint in his eyes was any indicator.

“That was better?” the Tevinter asked, as incredulous as he was mocking. “I must compliment you for your patience, Bull. I don’t think I’ve seen worse.”

But he had, Evelyn knew. And he had been kind about it, calling the corpses back when it was getting too much for her and cheering her up with those witty one-liners he was famous for. Thus he knew that she had gotten better, _was_ getting better every day and, most of all, every trip out of Skyhold, giving the both of them the chance to slip away unseen to work their very own kind of magic on her skills.

But that was still their secret, to keep the disapproving and maybe even furious arguments at bay that would surely arise once they were found out. _Maleficar_ , she could already hear them calling. So, yes, what they were doing might not be morally unambiguous, but _dead_ did not mean _demon_ or _blood_. They were not using people who still had a mind and will of their own. Just the shells left behind.

“You haven’t seen worse, yes?” Evelyn snapped, but there was a humble kind of humour evident in her tone. “Maybe we should let _you_ compete against Bull here and see how you will fare.”

It was meant as a joke, but something passed between the two men that had Evelyn perk up curiously, straightening despite the pain in her back.

“Now, we all know who’d be dominating this,” Dorian said offhandedly, his eyes never leaving Bull’s.

“Only if you’ll allow me to, kadan,” the mercenary answered, intense and gentle at the same time.

Evelyn was lost. She knew there was something happening, something of importance, but she could not –

“You,” she exclaimed suddenly, raising her hand as if to point an accusing finger but stopping halfway there as if she did not know who to turn to first. A grin began to tug on her lips, making it hard to keep a scowl on her face as she stomped over towards Dorian. “We have business to take care of,” she said in a voice that broke no argument, which, of course, did not deter the Tevinter in the slightest as he opened his mouth to protest.

“Whatever business would that be?”

Evelyn blinked, then shrugged. “Oh, you know. Devising evil plans to establish our tyranny over Thedas. Raising an army of the dead. Raining down fire on innocent passer-bys. The usual.”

When Dorian tried to say something else, she was having none of it. Bestowing a truly heated glare on him, she dragged him all over the courtyard, only stopping briefly to face back towards the Iron Bull who was eyeing Dorian’s struggling with a great amount of amusement and not a pinch of pity.

“And you,” Evelyn did her best pointy glare. “We’ll meet again tomorrow, and you better hope I don’t know all your weak spots by then.”

Bull’s laughter followed them all the way into the castle.

They passed directly through the entrance hall, something Evelyn usually avoided because there was always someone who wanted something or other from her, even if it was only an indecent amount of time to stare at her marked hand. Now, however, no one stepped into their way to bother them. Maybe they shied away from the determined expression on her face. Or it was the sight of a struggling mage at her side, throwing glares at her for taking him away from the object of his affection. Chancing a glance to the side, Evelyn had to correct that last thought as mere wishful thinking. Dorian was neither struggling, nor was his face anything but pleasant to look at. Damn him.

“You could at least have the grace to _pretend_ to be terrified of me,” Evelyn hissed at her companion and, slightly grumpy, refused to let go of her death grip on his arm. It would serve him right if he had bruises later.

“Terrified of you?” Dorian replied, sounding nothing if not amicable, telling her that something painful for her ego was about to come out of his mouth. “I’ve seen you fight, friend. And I’m not impressed.” Then he smirked. “Also, I’m way too handsome to be thrown into the dungeons.”

Evelyn merely huffed at that. “As if you could do better.”

“You’re right,” Dorian agreed, much to her surprise. “I’m already looking as good as sin. Any better and I’d blind you poor, plain mortals.” Or not.

“I mean the fighting,” Evelyn grumbled, navigating them through the door to her quarters.

“And again I will have to correct you,” he sighed in a way that clearly said, _When will you ever learn?_ “I am perfectly able to hold myself in a physical fight. Not all corners of Minrathous are as safe and proper as the Imperium wants the world to believe.” Meaning he had gotten into fights, maybe even tavern brawls.

“I can’t imagine your father approved.”

In response, Dorian snorted. The sound was so full of distaste, that Evelyn was sure he had taken lessons from Cassandra. “Most of the time I did not either,” he said, a dark quality to his tone that had Evelyn scramble for a change of topic – or at least a clever joke to _return_ to the topic she had originally wanted to talk about.”

“You’re not a hands-on guy then?” She waggled her eyebrows in an exaggerated manner, succeeding in getting his expression to lighten up again. “And here I’d wagered otherwise.”

“It all depends on whose hands we’re talking about, and where they’re put,” Dorian replied haughtily, sounding like proper nobility and sending Evelyn into pearls of laughter.

By then they had arrived in her quarters, and she shoved him unceremoniously onto her bed before sitting among the multitude of pillows herself. That was a luxury she indulged herself in, having the softest, fluffiest bed the Inquisition could provide her here in the middle of nowhere. All in the name of forgetting the Circle’s many drawbacks, of course. She had seen enough bunk beds for the rest of her life.

“I bet I know whose hands you’d want all over you,” she snickered as Dorian rearranged his limbs into a more comfortable position, as far as that was possible after being dumped on a stranger’s bed.

Eyeing his surroundings warily, he said, “Are we going to paint our nails together now, while talking about boys and the latest Orlesian fashion?”

“If that’ll put you more at ease,” Evelyn agreed earnestly, smiling somewhat evilly. “We’d have to make use of your stocks, however. I’m afraid I’ve been out of nail polish for quite a while now.” She actually remembered tying a snobbish cousin down once, when she had still been with her family, who had been getting on her nerves. It had, although, not only been his nails she had attended to. And it had certainly been worth the scolding she had gotten afterwards.

Dorian clicked his tongue in obvious disapproval. “Typical. You should _really_ sort out your priorities,” he deadpanned. As he made to get up, he gathered his robes. “Well then, now that our girl’s night has regrettably been cut short due to your insufficient preparations, I will –“

Evelyn lunged forwards, dragging him back down unto the cushions. “You will stay right here and tell me what I want to know,” she grinned when he looked flustered. Even if it was only a moment before he regained his composure.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said regally, eyeing his finger nails as if they really were in need of a splash of colour. But that was not enough to fool the Herald of Andraste.

“You,” she scowled, but did not managed to hold her serious expression for long before breaking into a grin that was both smug and excited. “Bull. Kadan. Do I have to spell it out for you?” Predictably, he was not convinced that easily. “Resistance is futile. Spill.”

“I find myself much more inclined to talk about –“  Dorian waved his hand like he was trying to grab something out of the very air. He clearly tried to change the topic. Then, though, he perked up. “Corpses. Yes, that seems to be the only topic holding your interest, usually.”

Evelyn huffed. For someone who could go on the whole day about himself, the Tevinter was suspiciously tight-lipped about this. Luckily, she was nothing if not persistent. “But there is,” she replied in a saccharine tone. “Your love life, for example. And, right now, I want to know every little sordid detail about that.”

Dorian groaned. “Why?” Immediately after he had said that, he waved the question away himself. “There’s nothing to talk about.” With a resolute glare, the mage got up from the  bed and walked over to the balcony door, not quite gone yet, but clearly not comfortable with staying either.

“Dorian,” Evelyn whined, but there was a note of concern in her voice. When he did not even twitch, she let all of the excitement drain out of her. “Tell me.”

Apparently her change in demeanour was all that Dorian had needed, for he turned back to her again almost at once. With a soft sigh, he leaned against a wall in a way that did not resemble his usual relaxed manner at all.

“It was but one time,” the Tevinter began reluctantly. “And I’m not sure there should be a second.”

Instead of going for the logical _why?_ , Evelyn plunged right into the more difficult question. “But you want there to be a second time?”

Taking his time to answer, Dorian first closed his eyes as if listening deep inside himself – which really told her all she needed to know – and then his lips broke into something of a self-deprecating smile, not an expression usually seen on the mage’s face. “And maybe a third time, too.”

“That bad?”

And he agreed. “That good.” Then he sighed again and let his head fall back against the stone as if it had become too heavy for him to carry.

Evelyn leaned forward. “So, is it just the sex?” It was a question meant to cheer him up, to turn his thoughts on more pleasant things than whatever mental anguish he was focused on instead. Also, she knew herself that it had to be more. Bull might be an axe-swinging giant with horns, but he had a gentle side, a determination to take care of those close to him as best as he could. And it would do Dorian a world of good if he allowed someone to take care of him. Not that he would ever admit that.

“No, and that’s just making it worse,” the Tevinter exclaimed in obvious frustration. He pushed himself off the wall and took to pacing the length of the room, agitated all of a sudden, angry even, although Evelyn could not exactly say at whom. And, judging on his expression, he did not really know, either. “Just imagine what my father would say.”

Well, Evelyn thought, that took a surprisingly unpleasant turn. “And here I was under the impression that you no longer care for what Halvard Pavus wants or thinks.”

“And I don’t,” Dorian snapped and stopped his pacing just long enough to glare at her with annoyance. “But can I really afford to ignore what _all_ of my landsmen will think? Go against all their expectations?” He paused at the door to the balcony, restless, longing even, staring out at the snowy mountain tops.

It was clear that he was not yet done talking, so Evelyn bit her tongue to keep from plunging right into a passionate speech about how his well-being and happiness were much more important than Tevinter propriety.

“I have plans,” he finally confessed in a voice so very different from how he usually spoke about how he imagined his homeland could be if only one cared enough to help it achieve that. Someone like him. But now his determination had a brittle quality to it and his passion was fused with a kind of wistfulness that seemed to show that he had already given up.

“There are things I’ve been dreaming of doing ever since I was young and realized for the first time that Tevinter isn’t as whole and glorious as we pretend it to be. I’ve always wanted to change that. But I cannot do so without assistance and I won’t get that if it gets known that I am fraternizing with a Qunari of all people. They’ve been our enemies for centuries.” With that, Dorian turned around abruptly to face her, his precious composure clinging to a last, rapidly thinning thread.

“So, I can’t,” he all but spat. “I want to. But I can’t.”

They stared at each other for a moment, tension filling the room. Evelyn was scrambling for something to say that would not make things worse, while Dorian silently dared her to try.

“He’s not a Qunari anymore,” she finally pointed out and, anticipating his protests, raised her hand to silence him before he even had a chance to open his mouth. Of course it did not matter what title the Iron Bull bore. He was still tall and grey and sporting horns. No one in Tevinter would care for semantics after seeing that. But that was not what Evelyn had been going on about. “All he’s got left are the Chargers. He chose them and left everything else he ever knew behind for them. He won’t ask you to forget your plans for Tevinter, because he’s not giving _his_ life up either.”

In response, Dorian chuckled bitterly. “So you want to tell me that I shouldn’t worry about it, because we’re doomed anyway? How very helpful.”

Scowling at her friend, Evelyn clicked her tongue. “No, I’m telling you that this will probably not be the most conventional relationship, but if you both want this, you can make it work.”

With only an echo of his usual effortless grace, Dorian came back to the bed and sank down into the cushions, obviously worn out but thinking about the prospect. Right until a thought struck him and he looked up at her with something like panic flitting over his features. “How do I know whether _he_ wants this to work out?”

It was all Evelyn could do not to erupt into laughter. Here he was, the always self-confident free Altus, asking her, the inexperienced, sheltered Circle mage, for relationship advice. She felt like the world should be coming to an end.

“Ask him,” she deadpanned, earning herself a glare that was almost back to his usual boisterous nature. “No, I mean it. Talk to him. Spend time with him.”

Dorian considered that for a moment before coming to a decision. “Well then, when are we heading out again?”

“What?” Evelyn was confused at the sudden change of topic. “Where?”

But he only gestured impatiently. “Somewhere. I don’t care. You obviously have to take me and Bull.”

Realization dawned on her and again she had to suppress laughter. This was going to be way more entertaining than she ever could have hoped. “You do realize that you are both living in this castle, yes? You could just go and pay him a visit.”

The Tevinter scoffed, obviously thinking that to be a ridiculous idea. “He’s either in the training yard or in the tavern. And he’s always surrounded by his men. I’d rather not turn this into a public play.”

Following a sudden idea, Evelyn smiled. “Do I count as a public nuisance, too?” she asked, equal parts amused and serious.

“No,” he rolled his eyes at her. “I would hardly be here and have this conversation with you if that were the case.”

Ignoring the warm feeling spreading through her chest – who could have ever known that she would not only leave the Circle but also find true friends out here in the real world? – Evelyn’s smile got bigger. She hoped that she would not come to regret her next words. “Then you’ll just have to cut your beauty sleep short and meet us in the training yard in the mornings. Apart from Cassandra’s occasional presence, Bull and I are usually alone.”

A determined glint entered Dorian’s eyes, and she just knew that all hoping would be futile. She had just managed to make her training sessions even more cruel.

“A fine idea,” he exclaimed while jumping up, filled with new energy. “I will leave you to your Inquisitorial business then.” When he was almost half-way down the stairs, he hollered a muffled “Thank you,” back up at her and then he was gone, leaving her alone with her growing amusement and sense of impending doom.

She did not see him again at all this day, not even in his usual spot in the library. But the next morning, when she arrived for her training session, she found Dorian already there, chatting amiably with the Iron Bull. She lost her grin quickly, though, for Dorian – Maker take him – had not lied to her about being able to ‘hold himself’ in a fight without magic.

The chance for revenge, however, presented itself only a couple weeks later, when Dorian and Bull came an hour late to the training. Together and looking rather tired. Alas, Bull was as unflappable as always, but thanks to her teasing and his flustering, Evelyn could at least win against Dorian for the first time.

So, inviting the Tevinter to her early morning beatings might have not been her best idea, but if she interpreted both men’s smiles right, it had definitely been worth the multitude of additional bruises she got out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Dorian and Iron Bull. But were I the Inquisitor, I'd never stop teasing them.  
> Well, tell me what you think.
> 
> And my heartfelt thanks to everyone who left kudos or a review.


	4. Stay Calm and Eat a Tart

After a particularly gruesome training out in the pouring rain, Dorian and Evelyn collapsed in black and blue heaps on the grand bed in her chambers. That was something that had become a tradition. Other than Cassandra and Bull, who were – Maker take them – not affected at all by the physical exertion during their mornings and simply got on with their day, their two trainees were not as tough.

So, every morning they limped up the stairs to her private sanctuary, calling for a generous breakfast and only once they had finished their daily round of moping and licking their wounds as well as filled their stomachs with many delicacies – although everything seemed delicious in their state of mind – to get new energy, did they separate to take long baths before returning to their duties.

Or, in Dorian’s case, going back to the library to loiter around, bother the poor servants and manhandle the books. They had both learned that it was better for her to keep that thought – and the accompanying smirk – to herself, though, for when she had not done so the first time, it had ended in a new bruise for her and the stinging pain of moving too fast in a battered state for him.

The fact that Dorian _was_ as battered as her, however, held no small amount of relief for Evelyn. Yes, he was better than her. Yes, he might survive more than a minute in a fight without magic. But Bull could still easily wipe the floor with him, and did so repeatedly every morning (and, if rumour was to be believed, at night too). There in the yard, it did not matter at all what they had become to each other outside of it, or whether Dorian pleaded for mercy with a choked _Amatus_ on his lips. Bull was his teacher there and if he felt that his student needed to be stomped into the ground every now and then, he did so happily.

It would have all been very amusing, if Evelyn were not usually lying in the mud herself at that point, pondering whether it was really worth the pain to stand up before she was thrown down again.

But all whining aside, she _had_ become better, although she could not quite say whether that was due to Dorian joining the training and thereby offering her the chance to fight someone closer to her own skill level than a Seeker or Qunari mercenary captain, or whether that was due to their extracurricular activities. Which were going surprisingly well.

“Remember me complaining about the mud?” Dorian groaned, sending her off into breathless snickering. _Of course_ she remembered. He had been lying there with such a disgusted face, glaring at the mud as if it had murdered his whole family, that Evelyn, because she could not keep herself from laughing, joined him there not two heartbeats later, resulting in them sharing a more or less healthy mud bath. Which, naturally, had him glaring at her like _she_ had murdered his whole family, shouting indignantly, “You’ve ruined my clothes.”

They had not gotten too much training done that morning. But at least Bull had seemed just as amused as Evelyn, so they had not paid for their distractedness with too much bruised body parts. And Dorian, having apparently learned his lesson, had shown up the next morning in very old and probably borrowed clothing.

“Forget I ever said anything. _Frozen_ mud is much worse. I take ruined clothes every day over ice shards ruining my _skin_.”

Laughing hurt, but Evelyn could not help herself. “Don’t worry,” she smirked, successfully hiding her own dread. “Soon there’ll be snow and we won’t be falling that hard anymore.”

“Surely they will not drag us out when the snow starts piling high?” his tone was more hopeful than questioning, although the miserable line of his eyebrows showed clearly how little he believed in that hope.

And still, Evelyn answered, mostly to keep herself from joining his whining. At times she felt like the walls had ears and Bull knew exactly what they were talking about once they were gone from the training yard, deciding to throw just that at them the very next day. Must be the damn Ben-Hassrath senses.

“Has any kind of weather ever stopped them? Remember the thunderstorm last week? Or the time we almost drowned?”

That was actually a funny memory. They had been cold and soaked through before they had even reached the yard. But Cassandra, clad as usual in her armour, had whole rivers of rain water pour out of its openings. It had been a comical sight indeed – and no one had laughed louder than the Iron Bull when the Seeker had still managed to defeat their charges in no time at all.

“How could I forget that?” Dorian said, his expression caught somewhere between a scoff and a sniff. “The damned rain ruined my moustache.”

That was another sight Evelyn would never forget: Dorian’s pride clinging sadly to the corners of his mouth. The Tevinter had even skipped their breakfast ritual to hide away in his quarters, only emerging again once he felt presentable again. There had been no end to the teasing, and even Cassandra had joined in, once she had freed herself from her armour-with-built-in-bath-tub. And Dorian had glared at them for days afterwards, which had, naturally, only added to their amusement.

Unwilling to get into a – good-natured – argument over it again, Evelyn straightened slightly. “On a positive note, we haven’t been too bad today. I swear I’ve even seen sweat on Bull’s forehead.”

“Not to dampen your insufferable enthusiasm,” Dorian drawled while eyeing her over some frilly Orlesian tart he had taken a liking to. “But that might have been only the tears in your eyes blurring reality.”

“I wasn’t crying,” Evelyn called out indignantly, contemplating to throw some food at him but dismissing it as too much of an effort. “But he was –“

“Believe me. I have seen Bull out of breath,” he ruled over her nonchalantly, albeit his eyes were laughing merrily. “And in the yard this morning he was definitely not.”

Foregoing this perfect opportunity for no end of dirty jokes and innuendos, Evelyn cocked her head to a side before saying slowly, “That’s actually a good plan.”

Because Dorian had a good deal of experience by now with what their Lady Inquisitor thought of as _good_ , he shifted further away from her, not even attempting to be subtle about it. Subtlety was entirely wasted on her. “What is?” he asked warily.

“You just have to tire him out before training,” Evelyn explained happily as if that was the only feasible explanation. “Then we’ll have a fighting chance.”

Dorian relaxed slightly, for he had expected something far worse. He was still sceptic, though. “Even on the off-chance of me managing to tire out the Iron Bull without ending up dead on my feet as well, don’t you think you have forgotten something?” When she merely looked at him in confusion, his lips curled into a patronizing smile. “Cassandra. Who will tire out her?”

Evelyn’s answer came so promptly, that she just had to have thought about this before. “Varric, of course.” Then she jumped up energetically, belying the bruises covering her all over, but Dorian stopped her before she could do something rash.

“I believe we should keep that plan as a last resort. There are so many things I still want to do with my life, which I won’t be able to do if you provoke the Seeker into killing us for meddling.”

Evelyn merely shrugged, however. “She’ll kill Varric first. We’ll just have to listen for screaming dwarves and get out of here as fast as possible.”

“Yes,” Dorian scoffed. “A very sound plan, indeed.” Upon receiving only a cheerful nod, he sighed barely audibly. “Perhaps we should stick to improving our abilities the natural way instead of using shabby methods that will surely backfire spectacularly.”

“Well, yes,” Evelyn said, sounding strangely disappointed – although Dorian had to admit that sicking Varric on the Seeker would be very amusing, indeed. Just not very healthy for everyone involved. “Maybe you’re right. But – oh.”

“Of course I’m right,” the Tevinter replied haughtily but stopped upon noticing that he had lost her attention. “What is it now?”

Her eyes swivelled towards him but it seemed like she did not see anything beyond what she was turning over in her head. Having learned all about her moods by now, he gave her all the time she needed, deciding to indulge his still not sated appetite with another tart instead.

It was only when he noticed her drifting towards the door that he interrupted her musings. “Where are you going?”

“I need someone to smite me,” Evelyn answered as if it was the most natural thing in the world for a mage to say.

Dorian, however, was not as calm or collected about this subject. “You what?” Having had Magebane forced down his throat by his father had not been the worst thing happening to him during those last days before he fled his former home. But the memory of his magic draining out of him while he could do nothing to hold it back had added immensely to the horror of the whole scene. It was a horrible feeling and he could not imagine to ever even think about allowing someone to do this to him. No matter the reason.

Some of that old panic must have been audible in his voice, for Evelyn snapped out of whatever trance-like condition her thoughts had put her in. She turned to really look at him again. Her face was slightly green for she was doubtlessly reliving some of the nauseous feeling of falling endlessly herself. But her voice, when she spoke, was firm.

“That’s what this is all about,” she shrugged and the motion looked almost desperate. “Learning to defend myself is all nice and good, but it will not save me if I freeze again, if the Smite takes the very will to live right out of me.” A shiver ran through her, causing her to seem so very young and very old at the same time, world weary and in over her head.

One part of Dorian wanted to take her into his arms and hold her close, tell her sweet nonsense about inner strength and brighter days that would surely come. The other, bigger part, however, was simply angry.

“So what?” he snapped and glared when she flinched. “Your next great plan is to let someone smite you. Repeatedly. For what? In the hope of building up a tolerance?”

“Why not,” Evelyn shot back, even while he was clearly not yet finished. Crossing her arms in front of her, she tried to stare him down. “It’s a matter of practice, I’m sure. It’s a horrible feeling, yes, but it has to be possible to work through it, to strengthen my mind so it won’t put me right into a panic.”

If it would not have likely made things worse, Dorian would have liked to put his hands over his ears to block out all the arguments he could see building up inside her head. “And that it’ll weaken you significantly, have you thought about that? You’d be constantly attacking your very core and body, putting an enormous amount of stress on your system,” taking a deep breath, his voice grew louder and flat at the same time.

“And imagine the strain on your mind, having to endure the constant fight. Mages have been known to go mad from prolonged abuse by Smites. Why don’t you go ask our dear Commander about how the mages in Kirkwall coped with that,” he scoffed, too far gone to notice the sudden glint in her eyes. “In case you’ve forgotten that little detail, but you’re the Inquisitor, your head is still needed, no matter that I believe right now that you’ve already lost your mind anyway.”

Completely ignoring most of what he had said, Evelyn threw a glance out of her window. “Cullen was a Templar, you’re right. Maybe I should ask him.”

Despite the very real need to shake some sense into her, Dorian gathered all the patience he could muster and spoke slowly as if to a small child. “The Commander’s been working hard on letting go of his hatred against all things magic. And he also worships the very ground you’re walking on. He won’t agree to such a harebrained idea.”

“Then I’ll ask some other Templar,” she insisted stubbornly. “We’ve picked up enough of them on our way. They should be happy to help.”

“No, they should not,” Dorian all but groaned. “You’re their Inquisitor, their saviour. Each of them who’d even contemplate doing this should be locked up immediately.”

“Not if I order them to.”

“On the contrary,” he insisted, wondering why she was making this so hard. “It would not do to have your men see you this vulnerable. That is only going to breed ideas or remind them that you’re a mage and that mages are, in public opinion, not safe. But, luckily, they’ve got a very effective weapon against you and you’d have even allowed them to use it.”

Every given power could and would be abused. Who would know that better than a Tevinter mage, whose home was one where everyone was constantly struggling for more power? And he could hardly imagine that anyone, even a Circle mage who had grown up relatively sheltered from worldly affairs, could be naive enough to be oblivious to that.

“What about Cassandra?” judging on her tone, Evelyn was beginning to see the truth behind his arguments, but was not yet ready to wholly abandon her idea. Thus, the question had a very irritated undertone.

“I have high hopes that the Seeker would see the flaws in this ‘plan’ of yours as well as I do and tell you so. Just not as politely as I did.” The truth was, Dorian was not so sure about that. Cassandra cared deeply for Evelyn, who had once been her prisoner but had long since become a friend. If Evelyn told her about her need to fight even while under the influence of the Smite, the Seeker would surely find a way to accomplish that.

Not now, not before Evelyn could defend herself without being completely out of her mind, and certainly not in a ‘I’ll smite you for as long as you’ll need to pull through despite it’ way. Once every other training, however, under controlled conditions with healers and lyrium nearby – that was entirely in the realm of the possible.

He just could not tell her that while she was in this kind of mood, for she would surely march right down to the yard to find Cassandra and shout out her mad ideas for all the world to hear. Delicate matters such as these required a certain level of secrecy and diplomacy, both of which Dorian oftentimes doubted Evelyn possessed.

Before he could think of a way to say that, however, without being called a liar later, Evelyn’s mind had apparently jumped on to the next bad idea.

“Then I’ll just have to take Magebane,” her tone was a painful mixture of petulance and nonchalance.

All of a sudden ice seemed to fill Dorian’s veins, flooding through his system, turning the ever-present sensation of magic under his skin into the terrifying dread of emptiness. Then the ice crept up his throat, scratching and tearing, to splinter against his clenched teeth and tumble out of his mouth in a choked, “No.”

The smell of blood seemed to hang in the air between them and his father’s voice muttered somewhere in the background, echoing between the peaks of the Frostback Mountains, all the way from the glorious Tevinter Empire. A laughing part of Dorian’s mind wondered whether he was going insane now, after all the time he had repressed the memories, only to have them emerge after one unexpected comment.

One quick glance at Evelyn told him that she was watching him with concern but not with fear for his sanity, so he must have successfully managed to keep his sudden panic to himself.

“Listen, Dorian,” she said earnestly but not too gently. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories, but I would not be forced to drink it but take it voluntarily. That’s not –“

“Magebane is toxic,” her bit out curtly, done with games and horrible ideas. “The Smite will leave you weak and might take your mind, but prolonged intake of Magebane will wreck your inner organs in an attempt to rip your magic from you. Every single dose leaves scars, it’s simply a question of how long you body will be able to compensate the damage done to it.”

And because he could not keep his mouth shut, he added, “What exactly are they teaching in those bloody Circles if you don’t know even that?”

Evelyn sighed, more discouraged than angry. “Apparently not what their methods of controlling mages really do to us.” Most of her energy seemed to suddenly leave her body, causing her shoulders to slump and her head to drop as she made her way back over to the bed, letting herself sink into the cushions and wishing for once that they were not that soft.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, making some kind of sweeping motion between them.

Dorian opened his mouth, then avoided her eyes and nodded in her direction, not quite knowing what he was trying to say. This argument had left him more exhausted than their morning training ever could, which really was a remarkable feat, although one he could have happily done without.

“It’s okay,” he finally said, even though it was not. Her well-being was important to him. Not just because of the mark on her hand or her fancy titles. When he had first come south, he had never expected to find a true friend among these barbarians, but here they were, Evelyn and Dorian, and he simply could not regret that, no matter what words they shouted at each other or what memories were dragged up unbidden, no matter how many headaches and – Maker forbid – grey hairs he got while sticking with her through her oftentimes harebrained plans – or trying to talk her out of them. Their friendship was a gift and one he would not want to miss for anything in the world.

“Just come to me before doing anything stupid, yes?” A wry smile blossomed on his lips, mirrored almost perfectly on hers.

“You do realize that this would require me being constantly with you? You can never let me out of your sight again.”

“Too true,” he exhaled slowly, listening inside him whether he was ready to let go of all seriousness again. Then, deciding that he was too tired for keeping up an argument, he smirked. “I somehow have the feeling that Bull won’t be as opposed to that as I might hope.”

For a few seconds, Evelyn’s face was utterly blank until realization hit her and her features scrunched up in a grimace while blood shot into her cheeks. “Eww,” she exclaimed. “You know that I love you, but I really don’t want to see you doing _that_.”

Her expression as so comical that Dorian had to laugh, shaking the remainder of the bad memories off like water after a bath. “What a prude you are, Lady Inquisitor. I’m sure you’d learn some exciting new things to spice up your non-existent love life.”

“Stop it, Dorian. You’re like a brother to me. An absolutely obnoxious and narcissistic brother, and the mere idea of –“ suddenly her eyes got that far-away look _again_ and Dorian was immediately worried about what was happening in her head, but then she was back with him. “Nausea,” she exclaimed, entirely too happy about a word with so many bad implications.

 “Nausea?” he sniffed, slightly insulted that she would think of something like that in combination with him.

“Of course,” she agreed. “Since the Smite and Magebane are off the table, I simply need something that imitates the organic symptoms to create realistic training conditions.”

There was an impatient expression on her face as she scrambled to her feet, as if she regretted now that she had sat back down in the first place. She was half-way to the door before Dorian called out for her to stop.

“Wait, where are you off to now?”

Evelyn laughed in reply, freely like a child with no worries in the whole wide world. “To the kitchen, of course. There’s one thing that can realistically imitate the headache and fever and nausea of the Smite, and that’s easily available.”

“What?” Dorian snapped, feeling desperation rise inside him. Keeping her out of trouble was a truly thankless job. And his chances of success were at an all-time low. “Food poisoning?”

Again that wild laugh. “Exactly. I’m starting to believe your self-praising rants, Pavus. You _are_ clever. But now you’ll have to excuse me, my dear friend, but I need to find some fish.”

And with that she was gone, stomping down the stairs, whistling happily to herself. Dorian had already half-risen to his feet himself, when a new surge of tiredness came over him.

There would be no rotten fish in the kitchen, so whatever she was planning to do, he would have time to keep her from it. Time he should definitely use to give his poor nerves some well-deserved rest. Sitting back down amongst the heavenly soft cushions, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the momentary silence.

“Food poisoning,” he scoffed. Smiling, he reached for another tart. “Not with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kudos and reviews :-)


	5. Best Laid Plans

“Why didn’t you stop me?” Evelyn groaned, her voice muffled by the dozen or so blankets piled on top of her. All that was visible of her were some matted curls and her nose, pale and covered in sweat.

Solas, who was busying himself with preparing a cup of sweet-smelling tea, looked up at that, surprised and threw an asking glance at Dorian who was sitting comfortably beside the bed, a book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.

Once all the drama about the Inquisitor’s sudden sickness had died down, he had declared loudly that he would not miss the whole drama and the accompanying entertainment for anything and made himself right at home where he could always keep an eye on her. Later on, she would call him out on his obvious worry and the need to make sure she was all right and he would, naturally, shrug it off as nonsense.

“I didn’t think you’d be mad enough to actually go through with it,” Dorian said, rolling his eyes. That said, he _should_ have known. Nothing was ever too dangerous or absurd for her. She did not have enough common sense for that.

“It seemed like such a good plan.” A shudder ran through her, easily visible since it made the whole bed tremble. Now that they were sure that she had not accidentally killed herself, the sight was very amusing indeed.

“You have a lot of bad plans all the time, my friend,” Dorian remarked cheerfully. “But this one was definitely worse than most.”

Another drawn out groan was all the answer he got, causing him to snicker quietly before taking a sip of his wine.

“Am I to understand that you did this on purpose, Inquisitor?” Solas asked, scowling down at the hidden form of their leader. All the appropriate emotions regarding such a folly were displayed on his face: a sceptical frown, a displeased down-turn of his lips, reproachful worry in his eyes. But there was much less annoyed exhaustion than Dorian had expected. But since Evelyn usually cleared up her own messes and did not pull the elvhen mage into her shenanigans nearly as often as she did him, Solas might still think a stunt like this was an exception rather than the rule with her.

“No,” Evelyn howled in protest, putting too much emphasis on the word. Slipping further into her cocoon of blankets, she added sheepishly, “Maybe?”

“To what end?” Solas seemed taken aback, which caused Dorian to smirk unapologetically. There it was, the first sign of the familiar exasperation everyone acquainted with her would get to know sooner rather than later. Oh, they all tried to deny it because, somehow, Evelyn still managed to charm them all into forgiving her almost anything, but fondness was not enough to keep them from recognizing that she was not the sanest person around.

“I’m sure she did not mean to take up so much of your time,” Dorian explained, barely holding back a laugh when the other mage looked at him with open scepticism. “Who, after all, could have known that eating a plate full of half-rotten fish would require the attendance of a healer?”

Evelyn shifted under her covers until her unmarked hand appeared and shot a lightning bolt at him. Or in his general direction at least, for it missed him by about five feet. Dorian tutted.

“Is that how you treat a friend who uses his precious time to watch over you?”

Another bolt followed the first, although it did not get any closer to its target. “You’re the reason I’m even here. You gave me the idea.”

Dorian met Solas’ question glance unflinchingly and shrugged, silently saying something along the lines of _You don’t know even half of what I’m usually forced to put up with._ Out loud he insisted, “Don’t drag me into this. I told you it’s a stupid idea. Which everyone with even half a working brain would know.”

The moving bed huffed. “What would you know about brains? You’re surrounding yourself with corpses day in, day out.”

Without missing a beat, Dorian quipped, “And idiots half-way to being corpses themselves.”

Solas looked at each of them in turn, something like reluctant amusement joining his disapproval. That was when Dorian knew that Evelyn had managed to drag another innocent soul into her madness.

He wondered sometimes whether they did not just all misinterpret her at times downright self-destructive behaviour as mere recklessness. What if the Circle and their strict tirades against all things magical had left her more damaged than she allowed anyone to see? Maybe, for her, it was totally acceptable behaviour to poison herself with no regards to her own safety, just so she could train for a future scenario that might very well never come to pass. Not with all of her friends and a whole army guarding her back.

But these suspicions were nothing he could talk about with someone else in the room, maybe not while they were at Skyhold at all, where the walls had ears and everyone kept too close an eye on her. Despite Evelyn’s outgoing character, despite her jokes and forgiving nature, she kept all her secrets close. Dorian liked to think she trusted him, just as he trusted her, but sharing one fear with him did not mean she would confess them all.

“So you _meant_ to get sick?” Solas questioned, still trying to come up with a rational explanation.

“I meant to get nauseous,” Evelyn answers honestly, a whine clinging to her voice.

“Well, you certainly succeeded in that.” Dorian snickered, then outright laughed when the other mage’s confusion deepened. “Just went a bit overboard, don’t you think?” He quickly sobered, when another thought crossed his mind. “How _did_ you manage to eat so much of the stuff?”

When they had brought her back to her chambers, Bull carrying her while a couple healers swarmed around them, Dorian had found the left-overs of her poisonous meal. The mere memory of it had him gagging again.

Evelyn raised her head high enough to glare at him. She still looked like death warmed-over. The greenish hue of her skin was gone, but she was still unnaturally pale and a feverish glance clung to her eyes.

“Well, Altus my-parents-had-a-slave-cooking-and-had-him-whipped-when-the-food-wasn’t-perfect Pavus, as a Circle mage and later apostate on the run I’ve eaten a lot of things that would make your toe nails curl.”

Dorian glanced at his feet as if to make sure his nails were still in their natural form, then scowled at her. “But rotten fish?”

“It was not rotten,” she whined petulantly and slipped back beneath her covers.

“Rotten enough to give you severe food-poisoning,” Solas inserted, his voice too calm and his gaze too calculating.

It had truly been a spectacle. Evelyn had arrived to their training session pale and on unsteady feet. The Iron Bull had naturally noticed immediately that something was wrong, but she had assured them she had not slept well but was fine. The Qunari had not believed her, but with a cautious _You’re the boss_ , they had commenced as usual. Only she had been worse than ever, regularly losing her footing and getting green in the face at every movement. Even Cassandra, who pushed them through training no matter what, had watched her with steadily increasing worry.

And then Evelyn had fallen to her knees, no strike or push causing her to, and when Bull had been at her side not a second later, hands stretched out to catch her, she had vomited. Then, as dramatically as she possibly could, she fell unconscious.

The result had been a lot of shouting from Cassandra, sending a passing servant to get a healer, a worried argument between Bull and Dorian about where to best bring her. Bull had been about to carry her to the healers’ tents, but Dorian knew she would prefer the privacy of her own quarters. For as loud and rambunctious as she usually was, she hated to be seen vulnerable. But Dorian only knew that because she allowed herself to _be_ vulnerable with him.

Thankfully, though, Bull had listened to him and they had made for the castle. They had not even reached the great hall before two healers appeared, immediately sending their magic into Evelyn to find out what was wrong with her. Despite the early hour, Dorian doubted than anyone in Skyhold did not know within minutes about their leader having fallen ill.

“Are you going to enlighten me why you felt the need to make yourself nauseous?” Solas asked, his eyebrow raised even while he concentrated on the tea in his hand, adding some pulverized plant before stirring it with precision.

“Because –” Evelyn started, then fell silent again. Finally, she settled on, “Reasons?”

Dorian did not have to see her to know that she was blushing and biting her lips as she was wont to do when someone caught her in a lie. Which was not often, because she _could_ lie if she wanted to. He sighed, thus drawing the other mage’s attention towards himself.

“But you had a reason?” Solas asked, directing the question to the both of them, although he did not seem surprised when he got no answer again. Resigned, maybe, and disapproving, but not surprised.

Clucking his tongue, he turned back to the tea, adding his finishing touch to it before putting it down on a small table next to the bed.

“Drink this while it is still hot,” he ordered in a tone that broke no argument. But it was Dorian he looked at meaningfully, as if the Tevinter had somehow become the Inquisitor’s personal caretaker. Which he had, in a way. If only that was not such an ungrateful job.

“Thank you, Solas,” Evelyn said. It might have been the blanket muffling her voice, but she sounded properly chastised, maybe even regretting what she had done.

The elvhen mage, in turn, only huffed, not believing her for a second. “Next time, just come to me. There are a dozen plants and concoctions that can result in nausea without the unpleasant side-effects of actually making yourself ill.” Solas spoke with a good bit of reluctance, probably doubting whether he should actually offer her his services. But he, like Dorian before him, likely concluded that it was safer for everyone involved to assist her and keep an eye on her, instead of letting her rush into her doom alone and trying to pick up the pieces afterwards.

Both men shared a long-suffering glance, although one full of fondness, then the elf turned to the door. After Solas left, still that curious frown on his face, Dorian turned a reproachful glare at Evelyn. Or, well, the region where he suspected her head to be, hidden from sight.

“You know, telling people you poisoned yourself on purpose without giving them a reason why does not really help your case.”

She huffed. “You were here, you could have thought of something.” And it really was that simple for her. But no, she might be steadily digging her own grave, but that did not mean that he had to follow her in that endeavour.

“My dear,” he said in an overly patient tone. “I don’t have any words for this colossal stupidity either. And the only reason I’m even here, looking after you, is because I happen to like you, no matter how unhealthy that attachment proves to be time and again.”

“Oh please.” She snorted, her nose twitching adorably where it stuck out of the bed. “You’re only here because I’m holding the details of your love life hostage. Varric would kill for my account. The Tevinter and the Qunari. I can already see his next book’s cover in front of me.”

An indulgent smile appeared on his lips. Only, of course, because she could not see it. “That, too. But also, someone has to make sure you don’t accidentally kill yourself.”

“Not before Corypheus is taken care of, I know,” she said, sounding like a petulant child. That had him perking up.

“You know that’s not true, silly girl.” When she only harrumphed in response, Dorian straightened in his seat, even going so far as to put down his wine. The book he had been reading earlier already lay forgotten at his feet. “Look at me, Evelyn.”

For a long moment, nothing happened. But something in his tone must have been impressive enough, for she decided to comply and slowly emerged from her multitude of blankets. Her face, however, was set in a stubborn mask. “What?”

“I’m not here because of Corypheus,” he said, then motioned with his hand. “I’d wager none of our closer companions is.”

Evelyn snorted, clearly not believing him. Maker, what had gotten into her?

“We joined the Inquisition because of the giant hole in the sky, true. But we stayed because of _you_.”

“Then you’re not as intelligent as you always brag you are,” she said sullenly and avoided his eyes. When he did not answer immediately, she shrugged in a bad attempt at nonchalance. “Clearly I’m a disaster waiting to happen. Maker, Dorian, I intentionally _poisoned_ myself because I thought it would help me train. And all it did was make me puke out my guts and get sent to bed.” Scoffing, she leaned back against her headboard. “Why would any of you be here, if it weren’t for the fact that I’m the perfect bait for the ancient, evil darkspawn magister trying to take over the world?”

Potentially hysterical laughter threatened to burst out of Dorian but he managed to reign it in, thanks to the relentless training in his childhood on how to hide his feelings. “Do you _really_ think that?”

Well, maybe he was getting soft, because there was much more aghast surprise in his tone than he had planned for. Thankfully, though, Evelyn’s last political training session lay even farther back. Or maybe she had always been bad at picking up social cues. Probably the latter.

“Of course, I do.” She snorted, still looking at anything but him. “I can only imagine how much Josephine and Leliana must regret naming me the Inquisitor. I’m keeping them thoroughly occupied with cleaning up my messes.”

“This –” Dorian trailed off and had to pick up his glass again, because he was sure he would not get through this conversation without alcohol. “How can you not know how important you are to all of the people here? To _us_?”

“I was told I’ve got a certain entertainment value –”

Suddenly, Dorian had enough. This was more than a short crisis. This was years of ingrained self-doubt bubbling to the surface and while he had no reason to believe he was qualified to deal with it, she had chosen to confide in him before.

“Do you know what any sane, any normal person would have done in your position? Accused of mass murder, then heralded as the Chosen of a dead prophet, then pushed to lead an ancient organization with a less than stellar history to live up to, all the while being hunted by a self-proclaimed would-be god?” Now he allowed laughter to tumble over his lips, although it was a softer kind, helpless rather than hysterical.

“Done a better job of it?” Evelyn asked offhandedly, sounding as tired as she looked.

“No,” Dorian exclaimed, harsher than he had meant, and they both flinch away from it. “Everyone else would have run the first chance they got, or broken under the pressure, or let the sudden fame go to their head.”

A self-deprecating smile flickered over her face and she opened her mouth to say something, but he was not about to let her dissemble his arguments before he made them.

“You say you’re not cut out for this and, honestly, who would be? Handling the end of the world is not something you can train for. So, yes, some things go wrong, sometimes it will seem like we will never get through this, and there will always be people who will lay the blame for it on you. But,” he swallowed audibly and leaned forward, forearms on his upper legs while he watched the wine swirl in his glass, coming close to spilling over. But it did not. “Listen to someone who was bred and raised with aspirations of perfection. Nothing and nobody is perfect. You can only face each new challenge set before you and grow with it.”

Anticipating her protest, he pressed on, not giving her a chance to speak. “That doesn’t mean you’ll always succeed. It means that next time you’ll have to make a decision you won’t shy away from it just because things might not turn out like you want or need them to.”

Silence fell between them. There were more things pressing against Dorian’s lips, things he could say, examples to give. But she needed to accept this first truth before he could even attempt to address everything else. And, after what seemed like an eternity, some of the tension bled out of her shoulders.

“Bull told me something similar once,” she said quietly. “About how Qunari choose their leaders not based on strength but their ability to make decisions and live with them.”

“Well.” Dorian inclined his head and opted for a bit of humour to lighten the mood. “I could say that my time with Bull shaped my perception of certain things, but then again I won’t deny my own brilliance. I don’t need a horned barbarian to tell me that you make a brilliant leader. You’ve got that ability to get up again, no matter what life throws at you.” A smirk stole itself onto his face. “That, and this eccentric charm of a madwoman. It really suits you.”

Evelyn smiled back at him, seeming a bit less burdened than before. There was even a bit of colour back on her cheeks.

“You truly mean it?” she asked and he hated how vulnerable she sounded. “You’re not just telling me what you think I need to hear?”

“I mean it _and_ I’m telling you because you apparently need to hear it. The two are not mutually exclusive, my dear.” He put a hand on his chest. “Also, I am offended that you accuse me of lying. I would never do such a thing.”

The creases in her forehead evened out almost completely while she looked at him with fondness. She made no attempt to pick up the banter, but he did not mind, seeing as it was as likely due to sickness induced exhaustion as to the war she had been battling with herself.

When he nudged the cup with Solas’ tea closer to her, she picked it up immediately, toasting him before downing it in one go. Mimicking her movement, he took another sip of his wine, then almost choked on it upon seeing her grimace.

“Does it taste as bad as the fish?” he could not help asking, readying himself to block another lightning bolt in the case she attempted to hit him again. Now that she was not buried under her covers anymore and could actually see again what she was doing, it was far more likely that she would hit him, even in her battered state.

But Evelyn merely smiled. “No. Not even close.” Then she looked at him, sudden intensity in her gaze. “Don’t ever let me do something like this again, yes? And if you have to tie me down so you can talk some sense into me, just do it.”

Dorian was not quite sure whether she talked about her food poisoning or her self-worth crisis, but he promised to not let either happen again. He cared too much for her for that.

“Never,” he intoned solemnly, then grinned. “Although Bull’s face was hilarious when you puked all over his boots. And I thought Cassandra was going to have a stroke when you fainted. Not to speak of the poor healers –”

“Yes, yes,” Evelyn interrupted his gleeful recounting of the morning’s events. “I made a spectacle of myself. What else is new?”

“You managed to render Solas speechless. I believe no one’s done that before.”

They shared a conspiratorial grin before Evelyn rolled her eyes. “And he’s immediately taken his revenge by making his tea taste so awful that I’m still as nauseous as I’d be without it.”

“That reminds me,” Dorian exclaims and jumps to his feet. “There is a whole pot he said you’ll have to drink. So, be a dear and give me your cup.”

She groaned and he laughed. And truly, she should know better than to expect mercy from him when she put herself into this position. If he had to spend his time sitting at her sick bed, he would definitely make sure to enjoy it.

“Now, about your horrible misconception of your own worth –”

Evelyn hid behind her cup, studiously avoiding his eyes. But she listened and that was all the encouragement he needed. People could blame him for a lot of things, being self-absorbed was probably right at the top. But no friend of his would drown in doubt about their own value on his watch. Especially not her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay. As it so often does, real life got in the way. But I'll try to do better.  
> Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something serious, I swear, but then the Inquisitor happened.  
> (Imagine Cassandra's face if she ever stumbles upon them doing something they really shouldn't.)
> 
> Please tell me what you think.


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